


Resthaven

by sithmarauder



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (insofar as Austria really cuddles), Canon Relationships, Cuddling, Fluff, German translation available, Historical Introspection, Historical References, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Modern Era, Spain Has Glasses, Translation Available, ex-husbands who once ruled the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4129617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithmarauder/pseuds/sithmarauder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The glasses suit you,” Austria said after a long, intimate silence.  Spain’s face lit up and Austria was glad to see no trace of the darkness, only the joy of a man who had once been Europe’s sun, rising and setting over one of the most powerful empires in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resthaven

**Author's Note:**

> Translation into Deutsch available: [Hort der Ruhe](http://www.fanfiktion.de/s/55e5b7eb000418401cfaec38/9/Haus-Habsburg-Casa-de-Austria) by [Kate_Marley](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Marley).
> 
> Honestly this is pretty much shameless, fluffy trash. Between moving to Germany (I'm here until the end of August) and starting my job I've been too exhausted to write a bunch of historical pieces, especially since I haven't slept through the night in weeks. There were thunderstorms today, though, which was wonderful, so I sat down and sorted my documents and found this prompt saved. I'm sure this wasn't what I intended when I first wrote the idea down. There's history if you squint because I can never leave it out entirely, but otherwise it's not as history-heavy as my other ones because I wrote it while still sleepy and listening to piano music and rain.
> 
> I fondly titled this document the "Spain with glasses fic".

> "Hand in hand guiding me into light  
>  You, the fairytale guise in blue and white."
> 
> \- Nightwish, _Alpenglow_

 

            There was little pomp or ceremony about his return. The house was mostly dark, the lights were off, and besides the sound of rain hitting the closed windowpanes it was like entering a tomb.

            It was then fortunate, Austria thought with little more than a brief incline of his head, that he was disgustingly used to tombs.

            Hanging up his jacket Austria began moving through the silent house, his destination evident in the way he moved to the bedroom, already in the process of unbuttoning the top of his shirt and absently rolling up his sleeves. When he walked into the room he paused, eyes drawn to the tiny lamp that illuminated the otherwise dark chamber with a dull, yellow light, reminiscent of a candle. There was no moon outside to light the room, the pale light covered by the clouds that rained their benediction on the land, so the light, though surprising, was welcome.

            “Spain,” he greeted evenly when he saw the figure standing by the window, elbows on the small niche, head cradled lightly in his hands. The fact that Spain’s body language didn’t change meant he had been aware of Austria’s presence before he’d spoken, and Austria could feel a small, almost insignificant curl of amusement flare in his chest before he gently smothered it, moving over to stand next to the other man, hands resting primly at his side.

            Spain stifled a note of laughter and barely waited two seconds before tugging Austria’s arm down so that he was leaning forward as well, arms braced on the little niche as the rain continued to claw at the glass. Once, Austria thought with an expression that wasn’t quite a frown, they would have had to pay a fortune for glass this clear, and the brilliant clarity and superior workmanship would’ve been a measure of their wealth and power. Here it was just one window among millions, commonplace and generic. That didn’t stop him from enjoying them, though.

            Spain turned to look at him, and Austria blinked when he registered the pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of the other man’s nose. He raised an eyebrow and was rewarded with a mirrored expression even as Austria reached forward and lightly pushed the frame up, hiding a smile as they just slid back down. By the look on Spain’s face, however, he hadn’t quite managed to hide it completely.

            “I was not aware that you required such things,” Austria murmured in the semi-darkness. “Or do you not?”

            Spain huffed, removing the glasses and running both hands through his hair, elbows still resting on cold stone. “Ah, sometimes,” came the response, “it is harder to see things clearly.” He rested the glasses on the tiny alcove and straightened up, turning to Austria, who pushed himself away from the stone as well. Spain’s hands immediately sought out his face, slightly cool, sliding up his cheek and resting against his temples, denied full access by the frames of Austria’s own glasses.

            “I can’t believe you still wear these,” Spain said, his voice conveying fond amusement.

            “Hm,” was Austria’s only reply until he felt Spain gently trying to remove the lenses from his face, whereupon Austria’s hands flew up to stop him instinctively, and his expression must have been pinched because Spain immediately made a face, the way he always had when met with that particular face.

            “You don’t need them, _mi rey_ ,” he said, voice soothing in the gloom but laced with tired amusement. “You never did, and you can’t fool me. I was there when they first appeared. You body may have weakened, but those eyes of yours never did, not like mine.” His thumbs rubbed careful circles against Austria’s forehead and Austria sighed, sliding his hands to Spain’s wrists, letting the loaded statement sink in. Spain hummed, and the fool’s grin appeared on his face as he finished removing the frames, resting them on the windowed alcove beside his own, all traces of seriousness forgotten. “That’s much better,” Spain said with a note of triumph, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to Austria’s forehead.

            “I look plain,” Austria said, disapproval clear in his voice, “you needn’t pretend otherwise.” But Spain only laughed.

            “Ah, _cariño_ , if I didn’t think you looked strange dressed in clothing twice your width with baby fat still clinging to your cheeks, I’m hardly going to think you look strange now.” The words were said teasingly, the rain taking a backseat to the two nations standing close together with a familiarity that spoke of too much history. Austria sighed, and his hands slid up Spain’s arms to rest on his still-broad shoulders, even as Spain’s slid down his chest to rest at his waist.

            “The glasses suit you,” Austria said after a long, intimate silence. Spain’s face lit up and Austria was glad to see no trace of the darkness, only the joy of a man who had once been Europe’s sun, rising and setting over one of the most powerful empires in the world.

            “Perhaps I should wear them more often,” Spain hedged, even as Austria gave a small hum and turned his head to the left, eyes resting on the two pairs of glasses, side-by-side. He reached out for one of them and opened the frame before turning back to look at Spain, who was watching him with a curiosity that seemed both childish and naïve and old and knowing all at once.

            “Don’t be vain,” Austria said, even as he gently slipped Spain’s glasses onto his face, noting the way Spain closed his eyes briefly at the touch before opening them, green irises now framed by brown casing. Austria leaned forward then, pressing a kiss of his own to Spain’s forehead, pleased that Spain only had to lower his head a fraction for Austria to reach. Standing on one’s tiptoes was, after all, highly undignified, and not something Austria enjoyed doing. Spain chuckled as if sensing the thoughts, and he neatly grabbed one of Austria’s hands, stroking it twice before letting it drop.

            “Bed?” he suggested hopefully, leaning down for a brief kiss. Austria allowed it before he carefully broke away, walking towards the drawers that contained his nightclothes and fishing out a shirt, not at all surprise when he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist from behind and warm breath at his neck from where Spain had buried his head. There were soft Spanish words whispered against his skin, little things that carried meaning from the centuries of yesterday, and Austria stood there, shirt clasped in his hand, as Spain got the comfort he needed from such a gesture. When the whispering stopped Austria turned his head to the side, a wordless command, and Spain shifted until he could kiss him again. Austria then turned, his back against the dresser, one hand braced against it as the other lifted to the side of Spain’s face.

            “Take those off and sleep,” he said, eyes flicking up to the glasses, and was rewarded with a small laugh as Spain withdrew, leaving Austria to rid himself of the rest of his day garments and slip into the pale violet shirt.

            When they were settled, Spain asleep behind him, Austria thought about the two pairs of glasses—his resting on the bedside table, and Spain’s tucked away in a dark drawer, as if hiding them could negate the need.

            “I can hear you thinking,” Spain mumbled, and Austria flicked his bare shoulder without thought. Spain only burrowed himself further into the sheets, his head nestled at the back of Austria’s neck. “Sleep, _cariño,_ ” Spain chided gently, arms tightening a bit.

            And with a smile he would deny until the day he faded from existence, Austria did.


End file.
